


Stepping Out

by Fatlockandfeeding



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Birth Control, Drinking, Inheritance, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mpreg, Omegalock, Parent-Child Relationship, Puberty, Punk Greg, Romance, Smut, Unilock, Virginity, Weight Issues, comments about weight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatlockandfeeding/pseuds/Fatlockandfeeding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is 20 years-old and hasn't done much of anything since he got into uni, except study and go back home for visits. When he decides to step out and try something new, he meets a young punk named Gregory Lestrade, and things get interesting. Authors notes at the end contain some spoilers. This work is inspired by an RP with my long-term RP partner and great friend, Fatlockfills. Much of the credit to this goes to her, although I am not lifting any words straight from the RP itself.</p><p>NOTE: I am having a crazy semester with school and a full-time job. But this piece is not abandoned, just on hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. London Calling

Mycroft had been standing outside of the dilapidated-looking punk pub for almost fifteen minutes, dithering as to whether or not he was actually going to go in. At 20 years old, Mycroft had lead a particularly sheltered life thus far, being the son of a Viscount and an Omega to boot, not to mention that when it came to his social life he tended to spend more time with books than people. Mycroft had never had sex, and he'd only kissed an Alpha a handful of times, none of which were particularly thrilling, and to top it all off, he'd never even been to a proper pub or club by himself, not unless you counted the occasional Sunday lunches with his mother and brother in the quiet pub/restaurant in their local village, a rare treat Mummy sometimes acquiesced to when she dragged her two sons along to dull and lengthy shopping trips. But Mycroft knew that a serving of beef, gravy, and potatoes paired with a white wine spritzer didn't count, and recently he'd been feeling the urge...the urge to actually _do_ something before he was condemned to a life of work, followed by a mate and babies. Mycroft was going to attempt to avoid the mate and babies for as long as possible, but Siger Holmes was not an indulgent man, and Mycroft knew his father's opinions on Omegas and their 'place.'

 

Mycroft had started to want to experiment a little when he'd realised that everyone on the floor of the hall he lived in at uni went out together every weekend, and never invited him. He didn't particularly want to be friends with any of them anyway, but he realised that perhaps he was the only 20 year-old who went home every single weekend to spend time with his adolescent brother. Mycroft loved Sherlock, but he wanted friends his own age. He wanted _something_ to look back on when he finished uni and went on to his life. He'd glanced at other people's phones and seen pictures of them with their friends, smiling and inebriated. For years Mycroft had scoffed at such activities, but now...

 

He'd Googled 'good music venues' in the local town by his uni, because he'd enjoyed the piano lessons he'd taken growing up, and the first place that had come up in his search was The Spotted Dog _,_ which reminded Mycroft of The King Charles Spaniel _,_ the pub his mother had taken him to, but now he saw that the two places could not be more dissimilar. He wasn't sure what had happened to The Spotted Dog, but apparently it had been replaced some time ago, because now the sign boasted the name The Chord Pit, and Mycroft wasn't sure if it was a pub or a club, but he could hear screeching guitars even from the outside, and the people mulling around outside were in ripped jeans, leather, or graphic tee shirts. Mycroft looked down at his own carefully chosen outfit, freshly pressed crisp, dark jeans, a white button-up, and an olive-green sleeveless jumper, and gulped. He was already sticking out like a sore thumb and he hadn't even gone inside yet.   


Nervous, he pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, his fingers shaking a little. Of course, when Mycroft pulled out his box of matches, he saw that he only had one left. When he struck it with his shaking fingers it splintered, and he sighed in frustration. Perhaps it was a sign.   
  
“Hey mate, need a light?”

 

Mycroft jumped at the unknown voice and turned around to see a skinny girl with bright pink hair holding out a similarly shocking-coloured plastic lighter. He smiled nervously and then took it, lighting his cigarette and handing it back. “Thank you,” he murmured, blowing a little smoke from his nostrils.   
  
“No problem,” she said, her country accent broad but friendly, “and I like your cardi -thing. Or jumper. Whatever.” She squinted. “No buttons. Jumper then. S'nice.”   
  
He blinked, and looked down at his outfit. “Do you really?”  
  
She nodded, grinning. “S'like, ironic. Librarian-like.”  
  
Mycroft wasn't entirely sure that his clothing choices were actually ironic, but she seemed friendly, and oddly enough her rough compliments had given him the confidence boost he needed to actually walk into the Chord Pit. He finished his cigarette hurriedly, and then strode into the bar, blinking a bit at the colourful lights and and the smoke from the haze machine. Still, it wasn't all that bad...and it really was a pub, but with a small space for dancing and even a stage, although there didn't seem to be any actually live music on currently, which Mycroft found a little disappointing. Still, it was a Wednesday night. Mycroft's lecture for the next day had been rescheduled due to his professor's heat, so he'd decided that tonight was as good a night as any to explore his new-found free spirit.

 

The place was crowded anyway, so that was at least a good sign, if it was crowded in the middle of the week, so Mycroft slowly picked his way through the crowds of people toward the bar, where a burly-looking barman was pouring a beer, his arms littered with colourful tattoos. Mycroft leant on the bar, unsure of what to order because he couldn't see any kind of beer list, just three tired-looking unmarked taps and a wall of different liquors. He was still squinting at the choices when he heard a voice.   
  
“Hey Beautiful, can I buy you a beer?”

 

Mycroft jumped and turned around, blinking at the young Alpha who'd spoken to him. He was handsome, and tall, although not quite as tall as Mycroft, but the Omega was used to that, people rarely were. He had dark hair, cut in some sort of spikey, shaggy style, and he was wearing torn dark jeans, a Clash tee-shirt, and a leather jacket that was covered in zips. Mycroft's eyes trailed up to the boy's face, and he smiled when he saw the cheeky grin, and the dark, playful eyes.   
  
“All right,” he heard himself saying, “why not?”  
  
The young man grinned and put ten pounds on the bar. “Oy John, can I get two of the Ducklings, please?”   
  
“Ducklings?” Mycroft moved a little closer to the Alpha, taking in his lithe form with appreciation. He was skinny, but his shoulders were broad, and his chest defined under the worn tee-shirt.

 

“They've only got three beers here,” the man explained as they were handed over in plastic glasses and he gave oen to Mycroft, “they're all from little local places. This one's the most drinkable of the lot. I think these places give them a deal or something.”  
  
Mycroft took the beer nervously and sipped it, but it truly was drinkable, if not exactly special. Just a fairly standard pale ale. “Thank you,” he said, smiling shyly.   
  
“You're welcome,” the Alpha said, “I'm Greg, by the way.”

 

Mycroft grinned. “I'm Mycroft.”   
  
“Mycroft?” Greg chuckled and took a sip of his own beer. “Cool name, gorgeous.” He glanced behind him, and Mycroft couldn't help but notice the Alpha's chiselled, strong jawline. “My band and I have got a table,” he said, “you want to join us? Or are you here with someone.”

 

Mycroft's eyes lit up. “You're in a _band?”_ Well, that explained his outlandish clothes. “But yes, of course, I'd love to.”  
  
“Yeah,” Greg said, putting his hand on the small of Mycroft's back and leading him away from the bar, “I'm the lead guitarist. Come over and I'll introduce you to everyone.”

 

Mycroft blushed at the feel of the Alpha's hand on his back, but the touch was light, and gentle, so he followed willingly, smiling when they approached a table of people.   
  
“Everyone this is Mycroft,” Greg said, gesturing to the people at the table, two men and a woman, “Mycroft this is Stuart, our drummer, Jack, our bassist, and Cheryl, lead singer and rhythm guitar.”  
  
“Nice to meet you all,” Mycroft said, taking the chair that Greg pulled out for him. He hadn't realised that poor people had such nice manners. He put his beer down on the table and winced when he found it was a little sticky, but refrained from saying anything. “So,” he said, blushing a little more when Greg sat down next to him and pulled his chair so close that their thighs were touching, “what's your band's name?”  
  
“Nympho Knot,” Stuart said dully, giving Mycroft an unpleasant look, although perhaps Mycroft had imagined it.   
  
“Nympho...” Mycroft let out a nervous laugh, “and you play what sort of music?”  
  
“Punk,” Cheryl said helpfully, a smile on her face. She seemed nice, really, and she was a very pretty Beta girl. Jack looked at her when she spoke, and a deduction raced through Mycroft's mind unbidden, about their on-again, off-again relationship, and how Cheryl was worried that Jack wouldn't stay with her because he was an Alpha, and Jack was worried that Cheryl would place the band before their relationship.   
Stuart was an Alpha too, but the only read Mycroft could off him at that time was that he didn't want Mycroft there.   
  
Mycroft smirked as he felt Greg's arm snake around his waist, because _someone_ obviously wanted him there.   
  
“So,” Greg said, raising his cup to his lips and drinking, “what is it you do, Mycroft?”  
  
“I'm a student,” Mycroft replied, “I'm a second year at University College London.”  
  
Greg's eyebrows quirked. “Wow, you're proper posh then, to go along with pretty. Looks like I'm in trouble.”  
  
Mycroft blushed again, and then he saw Cheryl looking at him.   
  
“UCL?” She said. “That's a really bloody good school, what do you do there?”  
  
Ah, there it was. A slight lilt in Cheryl's voice that betrayed her as less working-class than her fellow bandmates. Not from Mycroft's social class, of course, but she was at least comfortably middle class, and had probably gotten rather good marks in school before she'd rebelled and decided to be a punk.   
  
“History, Politics, and Economics,” Mycroft replied, lifting his surprisingly drinkable beer to his lips and taking a pull. His face was starting to feel warm, but then aside from the odd glass of wine with Christmas dinner and the glass of champagne on New Year's, Mycroft barely drank. Mummy thought it was unseemly for Omegas to drink in public and Siger drank enough for the whole family. 

 

But the drinks didn't stop flowing after Mycroft finished that one beer. After that Greg got him another, and then there was a shot of something fiery and harsh which might have been whiskey, and suddenly Mycroft found himself giggling, leaning against Greg's body and resting his head on his shoulder, listening to the man's pleasantly deep voice as he spoke. He smelt amazing too, the thick musk of Alpha mixed in with the smell of leather and the pleasant tang of cologne. He rubbed his nose on Greg's shoulder and saw the Alpha grinning down pleasantly at him.   
  
“Hey you,” he said softly, “you're a bit of a light weight, aren't you? Wouldn't expect it out of someone so tall.”  
  
Mycroft leant over and pressed his mouth against the shell of Greg's ear, whispering dramatically. “I've never been  _drunk_ before.”   
  
Greg laughed and looped an arm around Mycroft's waist. “I'm taking this one for fish and chips. Stu, I'll see you back at the flat, okay?”  
  
Fish and chips sounded amazing, and when Greg took his hand and helped him stand up, Mycroft smiled at him.   
  
“Why don't you run to the loo before we go?” Greg suggested. “The nearest chippy to here's just a counter really, no seating or public toilet.”   
  
Mycroft nodded, realising that his bladder was indeed panging with need, and he made his way to the rest rooms, happy to find that with a bit of concentration, he could still walk in a perfectly straight line. He made his way into the Omega toilets, and took out his cock almost immediately when he made it to the urinals, sighing happily as he started to go. He mused a little on what was happening, and felt a shiver of excitement go up his spine. A good-looking Alpha wanted  _him,_ and they were going off alone together to...they were going off alone together. Mycroft frowned. Was that a bad idea? He barely knew this boy, this  _man._ Was he the sort of Alpha Mummy had always warned him against? An Alpha who only wanted one thing and would go to any means to get it? Mycroft suddenly felt queasy, thinking of how willingly Greg had allowed him to become drunk, and as he finished up he felt his heart start to beat a little faster as he washed his hands. This had been a mistake. He so clearly didn't fit into this group anyway. All Greg wanted to do was to take him home and...Mycroft would leave and get a cab home. That's what he would do.   
  
When he made his way out of the loos he saw Greg bending over to talk to Stuart, and their discussion seemed to be pretty heated. Suddenly Mycroft saw Stuart slip something into Greg's hand, and Mycroft's stomach plummeted. Drugs. Obviously it was drugs. What did he think would happen, hanging around with a bunch of punks? Either Greg was going to roofie him somehow, or he wanted them to take drugs together. Jesus.   
  
Mycroft made to leave quickly, his heart pounding hard and fast in his throat. He made it outside before he felt a hand on his wrist, he he whirled around, his chest going up and down with his heavy breaths. “I saw you!”  
  
Greg blinked, his eyebrows coming together. “I...saw me what?”  
  
“Getting drugs from Stuart!”  
  
“ _Jesus_ ,” Greg glanced at the people milling around outside and took Mycroft's hand, dragging him a little further down the street so that they didn't have such an audience, “I didn't bloody get any drugs from him! What are you talking about? I don't even do drugs really...I mean maybe I smoke some weed sometimes when I can afford to, but that doesn't really -”

 

“I saw him slip you something!” Mycroft insisted, folding his arms and stepping back. “He gave you something just now and you two looked like you were arguing.”  
  
“Oh.” Greg's face coloured. “Mycroft, that wasn't drugs.”

 

Mycroft scoffed. “Oh? Then what was it? Why did he look so angry?”

 

To Mycroft's surprise, Greg rubbed his eyes, before finally reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. A two pound coin. “He looked angry because I'd already had to borrow a tenner from him earlier to buy your drinks, and then I asked him for another couple quid so I could get you fish and chips.” He sighed. “He's my flat mate, and I was short on rent this month. He was having a go at me for wanting to borrow more money. There. Satisfied?”   
  
Mycroft's jaw dropped open a little, and then he snapped it shut, his cheeks turning pink. “I...you should have said. I could have bought us fish and chips.”  
  
Greg let out a nervous chuckle, and reached back to scratch the back of his neck. “Come on Mycie, how embarrassing is that? For an Alpha to tell an Omega they don't even have enough money to take them out for fish and chips?” He smiled at Mycroft weakly. “I just wanted to treat you proper, that's all.”

 

Mycie. Usually Mycroft hated it when anyone but his little brother called him by a nickname, and even then Sherlock only got away with it because he was thirteen and overly-indulged, but for some reason when Greg called him that, it made his heart feel warm in his chest. Mycroft smiled, and then he reached forward, taking Greg's hand in his. “I'm still tipsy and hungry,” he offered weakly.   
  
Greg looked up, and then he laughed, his brown eyes twinkling in a such a pleasant way that Mycroft felt his stomach flutter a little. “Great, let's go see about those chips then, shall we gorgeous?” He didn't let go of Mycroft's hand as he lead him down the street, sure-footed and certain of their direction, which Mycroft was thankful for. “So,” the Alpha said, “tell me about yourself. Where are you from? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

 

Greg's hand felt pleasant in his, warm and dry, and Mycroft tried not to think about how his own hand was slightly clammy by comparison. “I have a little brother, Sherlock,” he began, “he's thirteen. I had an older brother, but Sherrinford died when I was twelve.”  
  
“Fuck,” Greg murmured, “I'm so sorry, Mycroft, Jesus. How did he die, if you don't mind me asking?”  
  
Mycroft swallowed. “A car accident,” he said quietly, before changing the subject quickly, “do you have any siblings?”   
  
Greg seemed to sense Mycroft's reluctance to talk any more about his elder brother, so he answered Mycroft's question with a snort. “Oh God yeah, I'm the second-oldest. My sister's 26, Carla, and then there's me, 24, and then there's Ronnie, 20, and Paul, 18, and then finally there's Becky who's 14. She's the baby, obviously.”

 

Mycroft's eyebrows raised. “So many of you, your mother must have had a hard time.”  
  
Greg chuckled. “Oh yeah, especially considering me, Ronnie, Paul, and now recently Becky all presented Alpha. My mum's as tough as nails. He had a lot of wrangling to do.”  
  
“And...Carla? She's an Omega?”  
  
Greg shook his head. “Nope, Beta. Ah, here we are.” He pointed at a fish and chip shop.   
  
“You know if you want, I can buy the fish and chips,” Mycroft said, “and you can just give Stuart back the two -”  
  
“Stuart's feet smell terrible, and he never does dishes. He's definitely buying us chips...although did you want fish too, because that might be up to you I'm afraid.” Greg looked so much softer when he was bashful, less like a hardened punk and more like a youn boy from London who's grown up with a large family and lots of younger siblings.   
  
“Just chips are fine,” Mycroft assured, “I'm supposed to be on a diet anyway.”  
  
Greg scoffed. “What? No, you're fine, come on.” He tugged Mycroft into the little shop by the hand, and got them both a small portion of chips. They were greasy and salty-smelling, and as far as Mycroft was concerned, they were heavenly. He walked alongside Greg, taking in the fresh-smelling night air, until they eventually found a bench, and they sat to finish their food.   
  
“So,” Greg said around a mouthful of chips, “can I have your number?”  
  
Mycroft nodded, smiling wider than he had ever known he was capable of before. “Of course – yes, absolutely.”  
  
Greg laughed. “Oh thank fuck, because this whole night I've been thinking how you're so bloody far out of my league, but I had to try.”  


Greg thought  _Mycroft_ was out of his league? Mycroft looked at the gorgeous, friendly,  _cool_ young man talking to him, and at that moment he felt bold. He put his chips to one side, and then leant forward and pressed his lips to Greg's, trying not to care that he felt the older man start underneath him. Did he not like it? Was Mycroft not doing it ri -  


Suddenly there were strong, calloused hands on his face, and Mycroft felt his heart flutter as he felt Greg start to kiss him back, the man's lips surprisingly soft and his breath pleasant and sweet despite the alcohol they'd both been drinking.   
  


“Ohh,” Mycroft breathed out, his heart pounding in his chest, which was pressed against Greg's, “oh that's...”  
  
Greg stroked Mycroft's hair, affectionately, and then pressed another short kiss to the Omega's lips. “Want to come back to mine?”  
  
Mycroft blinked and pulled away abruptly. “I...I um. I -”  
  
Greg put a finger on his lips. “You don't have to if you don't want to. How about you just give me that number you promised instead?”   
  
Mycroft nodded, and then took the phone Greg offered, trying not to blink at the cheap model, and programmed in his number and name, before handing the phone back to the Alpha. “I'm free every night this week,” he offered, “I don't usually have evening plans at all.” He suddenly realised what he'd said and could have kicked himself, he'd just revealed how few friends he had, and how sad his social life was.

 

“Perfect, that's perfect,” Greg said, and then he smiled, slipping his hand into Mycroft's, “do you want me to walk you to the bus stop? I can wait with you until the night bus comes if you want.”   
  
Mycroft squinted down the street, and then stood, although he didn't let go of Greg's hand. “I'm just going to grab this taxi, actually.” He stuck out his hand. “Do you live near here? We could drop you off first. I don't mind paying.”  
  
Greg shook his head. “Nah, I'm going to head back to the pub and catch up with the gang. We were talking about our next setlist when you came in.” Greg looked over as the taxi pulled up and sighed, pulling Mycroft in for a deep, soft kiss. Mycroft practically melted until the cabbie angrily honked his horn, and Greg chuckled against his lips. “Get in,” he whispered, “I'll call you, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Mycroft murmured, before practically stumbling into the cab, his face so on fire that every single freckle was standing out, “bye. Bye!”   
  
He looked out of the window and saw Greg blowing him a kiss, and his stomach tightened up into knots.   
  
He'd never thought something like this would happen to him. He smiled slightly and leant back against the leather seat of the taxi. He didn't even care that he was going to have a hangover tomorrow. 

 

 


	2. This Charming Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg have their first date, and Greg learns a little something about Mycroft.

_Mummy says we're going to lunch when you come home this weekend. That means Father's found you another potential Alpha and she's supposed to break the news to you gently. SH_   
  
Mycroft groaned when he heard his phone go off in the morning, and rolled over blearily to grab it, blinking at the screen and groaning when he saw the time. 

 

_It's 7 o' clock, Sherlock. This couldn't have waited until later? M_

 

_You're usually awake by now. SH_

 

Mycroft's head was throbbing, and when he sat up he groaned, clutching at his belly. Why did people _willingly_ get drunk? Ugh. He picked up his phone again and sighed.

 

_I had a late night last night, and yes, you're right, Father's probably found yet another suitor, but as usual I don't care. He promised as long as my marks stayed up I could stay in uni. Whatever he thinks high society Omegas should be, I've no plans to get bonded or start popping out babies any time soon. M_

 

Some people might think that Mycroft was being to frank with his as of yet unpresented, 13 year-old brother, but Sherlock was a smart boy, and he and Mycroft were very close. Mycroft reached under his bed and retrieved a bottle of water, which he began sipping slowly. He was just debating whether or not he felt well enough to run to the Boots down the road to get some Alka-Seltzer when he got another text from Sherlock.

 

_Obviously. You've got more important things to do. But I'm glad you're coming home. I've got some stuff to show you. You should see what I've done to your old lab. SH_

 

Mycroft smiled affectionately.

 

_Can't wait to see it, little brother. But I have to go now. I'll see you this week end. M_

 

_Bye Mycie. Love you. SH_

 

_Love you too. M_

 

Sherlock was a remarkable little boy, so like Mycroft in many ways, but more loving, and more open. While it was true that he wasn't exactly a little boy any more, the fact that he hadn't presented yet made him seem younger. He was short, skinny, and had absolutely no interest in Alphas, Betas, or Omegas. Their father called him an oddball, and was sure that he would present Omega, like Mycroft, because according to Siger Holmes both of his remaining sons were 'soft.' Sherrinford had been an Alpha, but Sherry was gone, and sometimes Mycroft felt as though he was living with the constant reminder that he wasn't quite the older brother Sherry had been. But Sherlock, at least, loved and trusted him, and Mycroft was glad because his baby brother was so sensitive and so without friends, it felt good to know that he had Mycroft to depend on.   
  
Mycroft flopped back against his bed and groaned, and then called for a pizza from his favourite place. Well, his calories for the week were already ruined from all the drinking he'd done last night, so he might as well solidify his downfall and quell his hangover at the same time. He sighed. He felt as though he'd put on a little weight this past term, and Mummy was sure to be disappointed when he went back for his visit. She liked it when he walked a very specific line with his weight, plump enough to catch an Alpha's attention with his wide hips without his middle starting to soften. Mycroft thought of last night and smiled softly, because clearly Greg didn't have a problem with the way he looked. Greg had wanted him to come back to his flat...but what if that was all he wanted? Mycroft glanced worriedly at his phone that was devoid of messages from the handsome Alpha, and then he remembered that most people didn't wake up at 7am the night after drinking. Or order pizzas at that time. Still, Mycroft couldn't bring himself to care.

 

He spent most of that day simply lounging around, more thankful than ever for his professor's heat and the rescheduled lecture. Of course in reality, he could have skipped his lectures any time he wanted, seeing as uni really didn't present much of a challenge for his brain. He only went to keep up appearances and honestly, for something to do. Still, there was something fantastically decadent about lying around in his bed all day, eating pizza and reading novels. He could hardly believe it, one night out and he was already loosening up.

 

He got a text from Greg around noon.

 

_Good morning, Beautiful. How are you feeling?_

 

Should Mycroft take a few minutes to reply? He didn't want to seem desperate...but then again Greg had texted him the next day. Didn't Alphas usually like to wait? Make themselves seem aloof? God, Mycroft was becoming painfully aware of how little he knew about romantic interactions with Alphas.

 

_I wasn't feeling well earlier, but my little brother woke me up with a text at 7 o' clock. I'm feeling a bit better now. How about you? Also you should sign your texts, at least the first time you text someone. M_

 

_Why? You knew it was me._

 

Mycroft chuckled and sat up, blushing a little just a couple texts from the Alpha he'd met last night.

 

_It's just good manners. How are you feeling? M_

 

_Bit rough. But I think I drink a bit more than you do, so. I'm glad you're not feeling bad any more. Do you have any plans tonight?_

 

Tonight? Greg wanted to go out as soon as tonight? Mycroft looked down at himself and winced. He felt bloated from all the carbs he'd eaten and he still felt a little delicate after the previous night, but if he said no Greg might think he wasn't interested.

 

_I don't have any specific plans. What were you thinking of? M_

 

_I was thinking you could come over to my place. There's a beautiful view of London from my roof, and maybe we could watch something? I've got a portable DVD player._

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Greg wanted to watch a film at his house? On a _roof_? Mycroft would have never thought that a date could be anything like that. He'd been on the odd set-up with an Alpha of his mother's choosing, and they'd always taken him to high end restaurants, where the conversation was stilted and the food was decadent but served in tiny portions on oddly-shaped plates.   
  
_Myc? I can make dinner too. Or we can do something else._

 

Mycroft hadn't realised how long it had been, but he'd just been staring at his screen and hadn't even responded. Going back to Greg's place seemed dangerous...he would expect sex. He'd expect...but Greg didn't seem like that either, and when Mycroft thought of the Alpha's kind, smiling face, he couldn't help the warm feeling that spread in his belly. So before he knew what he was doing, he was responding, caution thrown to the wind.

 

_No, that sounds fun. I've never had a roof picnic before, haha. M_

 

_Lol, Beautiful, I think there's a few things that you haven't done before. But don't worry, we have time. ;)_

 

There it was again, that fluttering feeling; that surge of something that hadn't fully settled since the night before. God, what was wrong with him? Why hadn't any of the high society Alphas he'd met made him feel this way? Why did he feel so drawn to this poor musician? His mother would never stand for it. His father would actively try to separate them if he ever found out. He should just end it now, before things got messy. That's exactly what he should do.   
  
_What time did you want me to come over? Where do you live? M_

 

Oh. Mycroft was in trouble.   
  
***

“You invited him over tonight?”  
  
Greg rolled his eyes and opened the fridge. “Yes Stu, I already said that. Don't worry, we won't be in your way or anything, I'm going to take him up into the roof.” He didn't have much in for dinner, but he had promised to feed Mycroft, mostly out of desperation because he knew that inviting someone to come and sit in your roof wasn't exactly date of the year. But his situation hadn't changed since yesterday, and he was still completely broke. “Don't drink my Carlsberg that's in the fridge, alright? I'm saving it for tonight.”

  
Stuart snorted. “Carlsberg on the roof. Real romantic that is, Greggy – that bread's mouldy.”   
  
Greg made a face and threw the loaf of bread he'd just pulled out of the cupboard into the bin. “Jesus Stu, why didn't you throw it away then?”

 

Stuart shrugged and rolled a cigarette with expert fingers. “You want one?”  
  
“Yeah.” Greg sighed and flopped down onto the worn futon couch next to his flatmate and accepted the hand-rolled fag. “We don't have any fucking food in this house, Stu.”

 

Stuart puffed on his cigarette and then sighed, “I can't lend you any more money, mate. You know that.”  
  
“I know, I know. I'll have to throw something together. I think we have pasta, and some canned tomatoes or something.”

 

Stu grunted. “Just make sure you don't poison him. Does he know you don't cook?”  
  
Greg lit the cigarette. “I cook. Sometimes.”

 

Stuart laughed and flicked some ash from his fag into the ashtray next to him. “Why do you like him so much, anyway? He's kind of a wet blanket, don't you think?”  
  
Greg chuckled. “I'm sorry, I don't see you with an Omega. Or did I blink and miss your last date?” The truth was though, Greg sort of knew what Stuart meant, because Mycroft wasn't Greg's usual type. Of course he was gorgeous, with his pretty red hair and pale skin, not to mention his body, which was just perfect, long and lean but also soft the way an Omega's should be, at least in Greg's mind. But there were plenty of pretty Omegas around, and it wasn't only Mycroft's looks that made him so attractive. Greg usually went out with (or slept with) Omegas who were more like him, young punks who hadn't gone to uni or free-wheeling club rats who loved music and drinking. Mycroft wasn't like that. He was in university, and he was shy and lovely and...Greg _needed_ to know him better. Even just the brief conversations they'd had at the pub the night before had made it clear just how intelligent Mycroft was too, and Greg was fascinated by the Omega. There was something about him, and even though he was completely and utterly out of Greg's league, Mycroft seemed to like him too. That wasn't the kind of thing Greg believed in wasting.

 

“Yeah, I don't have an Omega, but there's a reason, mate. Jack's got it absolutely right, man. Date female Betas, they're so much more chilled out.” Stuart stood up and walked over to their kitchen, rifling in the fridge until he came back with a can of Foster's lager.

 

Greg chuckled. “Yeah, date female Betas, like Jack. Because he and Cheryl haven't nearly broken up the band 8 times or some shit.”

 

Stu took a swig of his beer. “Okay, I'm not saying that they're doing the right thing, but generally, I feel like Jack has the right idea. I promise you, if you get serious with an Omega suddenly they're going to want to bond, and have kids, and then you won't be able to do the band anymore. That'll be it, your life over.”  
  
“You're so fucking sexist,” Greg said, although he kept his tone light-hearted, “not all Omegas are like that. And besides, Mycroft's in uni, you think he's all about having pups and getting bonded? Unlikely. Besides, it's not like it has to get serious. Tonight will be our first official date.”  
  
“But look it there, what you just said. Obviously you want him to be your boyfriend or something because you're calling it an 'official date.' If you just wanted to shag him you would have brought him back here last night.” Stuart shook his head. “I saw how you were last night, mate. Fawning all over him.”

 

Greg huffed. “Whatever, Stu. Whatever.”  
  
He stood and went to the bathroom. He had to shower and get ready before Mycroft came over.

 

 

Mycroft was early, but Greg had expected that, he seemed the type. He'd already set everything up on the roof, so when Mycroft buzzed his door he let him up, but waited outside the flat, not want Mycroft to see the inside just yet. If things went well he'd be seeing the inside later, but hopefully by then he'd be too distracted to notice what a filthy bachelor pad it was. He smiled when he saw Mycroft coming up, his eyes raking over the Omega's tall form, taking in the deliciously fitted black button-up shirt and the tight jeans. God, he was practically edible.   
  
“All right? I've put the food and everything up on the roof already, and I've got some beer and blankets too.” Greg grinned and rubbed the back of his head. “Is pasta salad okay? I sort of threw it together.” He'd found olive oil, canned black olives, tomatoes, and dried basil. He also had some lemon juice from the last time Cheryl was over, because she liked to drink gin and tonics. It wasn't much, but he was hoping it would be alright. At least it was a meal, and at this point that was all he could ask for.

 

“Oh, that sounds fine, thank you.” When Mycroft smiled his whole face lit up, and Greg felt something in his belly flutter. God, he was beautiful.

 

“This way then,” he said, “you've sort of got to climb some rickety steps to get up to the roof. I don't know if we're meant to go up there, actually, but we do it all the time.” He lead his way down the hallway, and then went into a small fire door on the side if his flat, before starting to climb the stairs that lead to the roof. When he reached the door to the roof he held it open for the Omega, smiling at him as he felt his pulse pound in his abdomen, his palms sweating a little with nerves.   
  
“Oh, this really is nice.” Mycroft sat on the blanket that Greg had prepared, and then looked up at the Alpha with a smile that made Greg's heart give an extra -hard thump.  
  
“Yeah, the flat's kind of shit but the view from up here is great,” Greg offered, before sitting next to Mycroft and handing him a beer, as well as cracking one open for himself.   
  
“It really is.” Mycroft sipped the beer and barely made a face, but Greg couldn't help but wince inwardly, because obviously Mycroft was used to something nicer than the beer Greg had to provide.   
  
“Hungry?” Greg opened a plastic container of pasta salad and passed it over to Mycroft, who accepted it and took a bite, before making yet another face and putting it down.   
  
“Are those canned tomatoes?” Mycroft spoke with a little chuckle in his voice, and Greg swallowed.   
  
“I, well, I'm not a cook, exactly, and we didn't have much in by way of food...”  
  
Mycroft let out a laugh, and suddenly Greg relaxed, and leant in closer to the Omega, wrapping an arm around his waist and nuzzling into his neck, grinning with satisfaction when he felt the Omega beneath him shiver at the contact. “Guess I'm not doing well with impressing you, hmm?” He nipped at Mycroft's ear, and groaned when he heard a small moan in response.

 

“No you're – oh, oh _Greg_.” Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg's neck, and Greg pulled the Omega close, humming and rocking against him.  
  
“Oh fuck, Mycroft, Jesus Christ.” Greg bit gently at the Omega's neck, far from the bonding site but right at the sensitive spot where Mycroft's neck met his ear. Greg sucked at the spot a little harder, and then slipped his hand between the Omega's legs, smirking when he found that Mycroft was already hard just from the very little they'd already done.   
  
“Oh!” Suddenly large hands were pushing against his shoulders, and Greg pulled away, confused.   
  
“I...what? Too fast? No one can see us up here or anything, but we can go downstairs if you want, to my room.” It might actually be nicer if they did it on the roof. Greg rented a tiny box room without a window and he only had a single bed.

 

“I'm a virgin,” Mycroft blurted out, and Greg's mouth fell open.   
  
“ _What_? I...how old are you?”  
  
Mycroft frowned, and Greg immediately regretted his words. “I'm 20, and it's not _that_ unusual, thank you very much!” Mycroft crossed his arms over his chest, and huffed out a breath. “Maybe I should just go.”  
  
“No!” Greg reached over and touched Mycroft's shoulder. “No, Mycroft, look, I'm sorry.” Greg smiled sheepishly. “Please stay? I'm a moron, you'll learn that about me, Mycroft, but one thing I will say is I always admit when I've fucked up.” Greg reached over and cupped Mycroft's cheek with his hand. “I'm really sorry, okay? There's seriously nothing wrong with being a virgin. I just haven't met someone who hasn't had sex in a little while...punk scene, you know? Heh. We're all a bit...well.”

 

Mycroft sighed. “I...you probably guessed this about me before now, but I grew up fairly sheltered.” He swallowed. “Very sheltered. I'm from a family with very traditional values, and I was always taught that my first time was something I should save for my mate.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Now that I'm older, of course I know that's a load of rubbish, but I still haven't had the opportunity to. Well. That's all. And I just don't think I'm ready tonight.”

 

Greg smiled, and then reached over, drawing Mycroft into his arms and pressing a long, languid kiss to his lips. “It's fine,” he whispered, “honestly, it's fine. I didn't invite you over here just because I want to shag you...even though yes, I'd really love to shag you,” he chuckled, “because you're beautiful and sexy, but I also invited you because I want to get to know you better.”   
  
Mycroft looked apprehensive, but he leant into Greg a little more, a smile playing around his lips. “I want to get to know you better too.”  
  
Greg pressed a kiss to his temple. “Good. Now, I brought up Four Weddings And A Funeral. You want to watch it?”  
  
“I've never seen it.”  
  
“ _What_?” Greg faux-gasped and leant forward, opening up the little DVD player and grabbing their beers, “well the virgin thing is fine, but _that is unforgivable._ ” He kissed Mycroft's cheek affectionately and pulled him close. “We'll have to fix that right away.”

 

As Mycroft relaxed against him and the film started, Greg couldn't help but feel completely comfortable, and he couldn't help but notice how right it felt, having Mycroft in his arms.

 

***

Later that night, Mycroft found himself standing outside Greg's flat, as the Alpha kissed him over and over, sneaking his hand down to grab at his bum and grinding his hips into Mycroft's. Mycroft chuckled and nipped at Greg's lips, a little tipsy from the three beers he'd had and even drunker on Greg's presence.

 

“I have to go,” he whispered, “I have a test in the morning, I have to go.”  
  
Greg grinned. “Alright, alright beautiful. But what are you doing tomorrow night?”  
  
Mycroft blushed. “You want to see me again so soon?”

 

Greg pressed another kiss to his lips. “Why wouldn't I? If you're not doing anything, me and the band have a gig tomorrow. You could come out and watch. And then when we're done with our set we can all get some drinks.”

 

Mycroft's face brightened at the idea of actually getting to see Greg play. “Sounds amazing. Just text me the details and I'll be there.”   
  
Greg kissed Mycroft one last time, and then another last time, and then just one more...

 

It was half an hour before Mycroft finally got his cab.

 


	3. Punk Rock Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg take a particularly big step. Sorry for the delay in updates guys, notes are at the end of the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I am soooooo sorry for the long time between upates, I took a full-load summer semester in college and it absolutely kicked my arse. Hopefully my updates will be coming a little more quickly now. More notes at the end of the chapter that contain spoilers for the chapter.

Over the next few weeks, Mycroft and Greg saw each other whenever they could, at times even seeing each other every day, whenever time allowed. Suddenly Mycroft's days were full of doing homework while Greg lazed on his bed, smiling at him while the sun played on the natural highlights in his dark hair, and his nights were full of dancing at gigs where Greg played lead guitar and blew him kisses from the stage. Mycroft felt different, freer, and suddenly he was wearing clothes he would have never dared wear before, ripped jeans and tight shirts and boots that laced up to his knee. He felt attractive and self-assured, and Greg...Greg was more than Mycroft could have ever hoped for. He may have been poor, but he was funny, and talented, and he made Mycroft take risks in ways he never had before. They still hadn't had sex, but they'd become much more physically comfortable with one another, and Mycroft was certainly warming up to the the idea.

 

One morning they were lying on the small single bed in Greg's tiny room, their arms around each other, when Mycroft looked up, a glint in his eye, and he pressed a kiss to Greg's cheek. “Wake up,” he murmured, “I have an idea.”  
  
Greg grunted and blinked. “Wasn't sleepin', Beautiful...whatcha thinking?”  
  
“Let's go down to Boots,” Mycroft whispered, “and get some hair bleach.”  
  
Greg blinked and laughed. “Believe it or not, sweetheart, I've gone blonde before. It doesn't suit me.”  
  
Mycroft flicked Greg in the cheek and laughed when the older man looked affronted. “I wasn't talking about getting it for _you_ , I was talking about getting it for me. You've dyed hair before, haven't you? You could do mine?”

 

Greg opened one eye fully and gave Mycroft a bleary look. “You seriously want to bleach your hair?”

 

“What's the matter?” Mycroft lazily rolled on top of Greg and pressed his lips into the Alphas, grinning when he felt Greg's cock twitch a little against his leg. “You don't think it'll look good? I thought I could get my ear pierced too.”  
  
Greg chuckled. “Well look at you, you rebel. Tell you what, I can do your ear for you, if you want. I did my own lobes, and sure, I'll bleach your hair too.” Greg ran his fingers through Mycroft's ginger locks and sighed, bringing his other hand up to rest in the small of Mycroft's back. “Want to go now? If we hurry up we can get it all done before the gig tonight.”  
  
Mycroft was a little apprehensive about letting a non-professional pierce his ears, even if that person was Greg, who he trusted implicitly. But he'd already said he'd do it, and besides...he subtly checked out his boyfriend's lobe piercings, and although Greg had more than one in each ear, Mycroft could see that they were well healed, just like the ones in his cartilage, which he'd presumably had done by a professional.  
  
“All right then,” he said amiably, trying to mask how nervous he was, “but I'll need an earring...”  
  
“You can wear one of mine,” Greg promised, “I've got a really pretty diamond that would look gorgeous on you. It's too femme for me, but you'd look lovely. You can have it.”  
  
Mycroft probably shouldn't have found that romantic, but he did, and so he grinned and got off Greg's bed in a flurry of excitement, grinning at the Alpha and nearly bumping into the wall because of the size of Greg's tiny room. “Come on then,” he said, “let's go.”  
  
Greg rose in response, a grin on his face.  
  
  
An hour later Mycroft found himself sitting on a chair in Greg's somewhat dirty kitchen, wincing as he felt gloved hands massage something with a thick chemical smell into his scalp.  
  
“And how long do we have to leave this on for, exactly?”

 

“'Bout half an hour,” Greg murmured, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, “gimme half a sec n'I'll put the cap on.”  
  
“I wish you wouldn't smoke while you do this,” Mycroft murmured as Greg slipped something resembling a shower cap onto his head, “at least not while my hair's coated in something flammable.”  
  
Greg removed his rubber gloves and set them to one side next to the sink, before grinning and handing Mycroft a cigarette of his own. “Live dangerously, sweetheart. I knew not to get any on your head. Besides, you've got the cap on now, it'll be fine.” He puffed away at the cigarette. “Want to just go ahead and do your ear now, while we're waiting?” He flicked the last of his ash into the sink, and then rinsed off the butt before throwing it into the rubbish. Then he started to wash his hands thoroughly, and Mycroft balked.  
  
“I um...while the bleach is so close to it? I don't think it's a good idea to have an open wound so close to the hair dye.”

 

Greg shook his head. “Nah, it'll be fine, just let me grab my needle and -”  
  
“No, all right? I said no.”  
  
Greg blinked, and then leant against the counter. “You don't have to, love. I just thought you wanted to.”  
  
Mycroft swallowed. “I just...I still want to think about it. And I maybe want to get it done in a proper piercing place, not in your kitchen while the air is full of smoke and my head's covered in bleach.”  
  
Greg let out a bark of laughter and nodded. “Okay Mycie, whatever you want. I think you look pretty whatever you decide to do with yourself.”  
  
Mycroft let out a sigh of relief. “I thought you'd be offended or something.”  
  
Greg reached into his fridge and pulled out a can of cider (which he'd figured out pretty early on that Mycroft preferred to actual beer), and popped the top open, taking a sip before handing Mycroft the rest of the can. “Why would I be offended? I've told you, love, I'm pretty thick-skinned. You can relax around me, you're not going to hurt my feelings.”  
  
“Fucking Christ it's the ghost of Christmas Past.”  
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes as Stuart entered the room, making his way to the fridge and grabbing his own beer.  
  
“Yes, hello Stuart.” That was a stupid joke. It wasn't even funny, it wasn't even anywhere _near_ Christmas. Mycroft didn't know what he'd did to piss off Stuart so much, but since the very first night they'd met, the other Alpha just hadn't seemed to warm to him. He sighed and took another pull off his cigarette, and then took a sip of cider to top everything off. “Where's the gig tonight, by the way?”  
  
“Just at The Chord Pit,” Greg offered, “nothing fancy, but they're passing around the tip bucket for us, so that should be something, and the band drinks free.”  
  
“Groupies pay still,” Stuart added, shooting a look at Mycroft. 

 

Mycroft made a face. “I wasn't planning on trying to drink for free, I -”

 

“What's with the hair, anyway? Turning the rich boy into a £50 punk, Greg?” Mycroft hated that about Stuart, he'd ask you a question and then cut you off with a sarcastic retort while you were still talking. Mycroft felt his face heat and cleared his throat. Stuart was the only person who every acted like Mycroft didn't belong with the group.   
  
“Lay off,” Greg said quietly, before crossing over to Mycroft and kissing his cheek, “it's just a bit of hair dye.”  
  
Stuart looked down at the sharp needle on a sheet of kitchen roll on the table, next to it a diamond stud and a bottle of alcohol and cotton wool. “And an earring?”

 

Greg cleared his throat. “Actually -”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft interrupted, “an earring too. Greg's going to do it for me right now.”

 

Greg glanced sideways at Mycroft. “Babe, you don't have to -”  
  
“I want to,” Mycroft said firmly, “I changed my mind, I'm not nervous any more.” He was lying, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but he sat down anyway and turned his head, baring the left side for his boyfriend. “Go on.”

 

Stuart rolled his eyes but didn't leave, instead leaning back against the counter to watch the interaction. Greg huffed, stubbed out his cigarette, and then went to pick up some cotton wool.  
  
“Wash your hands first,” Mycroft said firmly, and Greg chuckled affectionately, before bending down to kiss Mycroft on the cheek, scenting at him a little.  
  
“No problem, Beautiful.” He walked over to the sink, washed his hands thoroughly, and then came back, tipping a little alcohol onto some of the cotton and dabbing it against the front and back of Mycroft's ear. “This'll hurt a bit,” he warned, and Mycroft shot him a look, one eyebrow arched, but said nothing as Greg prepared a needle with alcohol too.  
  
The pain was unexpected, but Greg had warned him, and Mycroft gasped and bit his lip so that he could stand it. “What the hell?” he ground out, wincing as Greg splashed fresh alcohol on the wound in his ear, “Why didn't you warn me?” He was trying not to pout, but he couldn't help but whimper a little as Greg pushed the blunt stud into the new hole, snapping the butterfly back into place expertly.

 

“Better to do it quick,” Greg murmured, pressing cotton into Mycroft's earlobe to stop the bleeding, “there you go, though. All done.” Greg bent down and pressed a kiss to Mycroft's lips. “You look absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured, “stunning.”  
  
“I wouldn't go that far,” Stuart said, and suddenly Greg rounded on him, his nostrils flared and his arms tense.  
  
“Piss _off,_ Stuart!” he growled out, “Go and get drunk before the gig like you always do, and leave my bloody boyfriend alone!”  
  
“Haven't even fucked him yet,” Stuart grit out, and Greg lunged forward, only to be stopped by Mycroft's hand, darting out to grab Greg's arm.  
  
“Don't,” he murmured, “don't bother. He's a wanker, and...and I don't want to get between you and your friends anyway. Besides, what will happen if you run off to beat his arse and we leave my hair bleach on too long, hmm?”  
  
Greg was fuming, his chest rising and falling with each breath, but gradually he calmed down, and turned to smile softly at Mycroft, reaching out to stroke the man's soft, white neck, thoughtfully. After a few moment he swallowed, and then leant forward, pressing his nose firmly against the scent glands in Mycroft's neck and inhaling deeply, deliberately, and Mycroft found himself letting out a small whimper at the sensation, as well as a huffed sigh as he felt his legs spread apart at their own accord. It was heady, what was happening between them, intimate and sensual and somehow more intense than the light, casual scenting the two of them had done before. Mycroft pulled away slightly and looked into Greg's eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, and licked his lips, feeling the beginnings for a hard on forming in his pants.  
  
“Right,” Greg said croakily, “right um...your hair. Come on, sweetheart, head over the sink.”  
  
He walked away from Mycroft abruptly, leaving the younger man a little bewildered...but his scalp was starting to burn, and so he nodded, approaching the sink and bending over it so that Greg could wash out the dye.

 

***

The gig was entertaining, as usual. Mycroft had been pleasantly surprised to find that Greg's band was actually good, and it made his stomach flutter to dance to the throbbing beat in front of the stage, looking up at Greg as he played expert guitar. Mycroft was the lead-guitarists boyfriend, and stringy-looking punk girls and boys looked at him with envy. As the band played on their tip bucket filled (Mycroft himself put in about 20, not that he planned to let his boyfriend in on that particular bit of information), and by the end of the set they'd already had to empty it once, a rare occurrence at The Chord Pit. Greg was laughing delightedly as he jumped off stage, his guitar still slung across his chest, and with one swift movement he pulled Mycroft in, pressing his lips to the Omega's passionately, his skin warm and slightly damp with sweat. Mycroft thought suddenly of the moment in the kitchen earlier, and he found his heart beating hard as he giddily wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. 

  
“You were amazing,” he yelled over the roar of the pub.  
  
“You're beautiful,” Greg returned, and then he handed Mycroft a couple bank notes, “free drinks are over with the set. Find a table and get a round in for everyone while we pack up? Lager for me and Stu, and Cheryl and a dark for Jack, whatever the local brew is. And something for you too, okay?” Greg kissed Mycroft again, and then made his way off with the rest of the band.  
  
Half an hour later and they were finally back, and Mycroft was sitting at a table with the promised drinks. He stood up, however, when they arrived. “Couldn't find a big enough table,” he said, “but you've all been playing all night so -”  
  
“Here,” Greg sat down, and then pulled Mycroft into his lap, making the Omega squawk.  
  
“No, I'm too heavy I -”  
  
Greg leant up and pressed a long, soft kiss to Mycroft's lips. “You feel good in my lap,” he murmured, his brown eyes locking onto Mycroft's blue ones, and there it was again, that fluttering feeling in Mycroft's belly.  
  
“Gotcha!” Mycroft turned around and saw Cheryl holding up her phone with a picture of Mycroft and Greg on it. He leant forward and squinted before making a face and letting out a small sigh. He looked chubby in the picture, he was sure.  
  
“Aw, it's sweet,” Greg said, “put it on Facebook, Cher, and tag me.” 

 

Mycroft didn't want that picture going online, but Greg looked so happy, and his hand was tight and sure on Mycroft's hip, and so he leant forward and picked up his beer, taking a sip and saying nothing more about the photo.

 

“Did you make some decent money?” he asked, “Everyone seemed to be loving you, and there was new material tonight, wasn't there? That ballad was new, certainly.”  
  
Stuart made a face, and Jack let out a laugh. “Oh yeah, Mycroft, the ballad was definitely new. Pick up on the lyrics, did you?”  
  
Stuart grunted. “I hate it. There's no room for mushy shit in punk. Name one good punk love song -”  
  
Cheryl interrupted quickly “'I Am Yours,' the Adicts, 'Stay With Me,' The Dictators, 'Baby I'm An Anarchist,' Against Me! -”  
  
“None of those are ballads,” Stuart pointed out, “I mean, I suppose Against Me!, maybe, but -”  
  
“I liked it,” Mycroft said genuinely, “I thought it was beautiful. And,” he put his nose to Greg's hair, “the vocal harmonies were a lovely touch.”  
  
Cheryl laughed cheerfully. “Of course _you_ liked it, Mycroft -”  
  
Greg's face was bright red, “Cher, don't -”  
  
“Greg wrote it for you,” Cheryl finished, and Stuart rolled his eyes while Mycroft blinked, and looked down at Greg, his own face now flush.  
  
“You...you wrote a song for me?”  
  
Greg let out a nervous laugh and picked up his beer, draining a rather large amount in one go. “I mean, yeah...it wasn't hard. You're a pretty inspiring person, Mycroft.”  
  
There it was again, that fluttering feeling, and Mycroft, his tongue loosened by the beers he'd had during Greg's set, leant down and pressed his lips against his boyfriend's ear. “Let's go back to yours,” he whispered, “I want to...let's go.”  
  
Greg's eyes widened, and he stood quickly, nearly knocking over the table and its drinks.  
  
“Oi!” Stuart protested, but Jack grabbed the table with his sure hands, preventing any major spills.  
  
“Have our beers,” Greg said, “we're out. Bye guys, seeya.”  
  
Jack let out a hearty laugh, and caught Cheryl's eye, chuckling, and then he winked. “Remember the first time I wrote you a song?” 

 

Cheryl rolled her eyes and watched as the Alpha and Omega rushed out, before sliding Mycroft's beer towards her and pouring what was left into her glass. “Good for them.”  
  
Stu only grumbled, and said nothing.  
  
***

 

The cab ride back to Greg's flat seemed entirely too long. The Alpha had suggested taking the night bus, but Mycroft couldn't stand the idea of waiting so long and had offered to pay for a taxi, but even the taxi ride was dragging out, and Mycroft could feel Greg next to him with every inch of his being. The Alpha's hand was hot on his hip through his clothes, and it seemed as though they couldn't go more than a few seconds without pressing their mouths together, feverish and heated. They hadn't kissed like this yet, like they wanted to devour each other, and Mycroft's chest felt like it was about to pound out of his chest when Greg moved his mouth down to the soft spot on the side of his neck and began kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there.  
  
“Oi, tone it down, you two. You in heat or something?” The Beta cabbie frowned at them from the rear view mirror, and Mycroft giggled, pulling away from his boyfriend long enough to whisper, his breath hot against the Alpha's face.  
  
“I wish you didn't live so far away,” he muttered, his eyes slightly glazed with arousal and excitement.  
  
Greg chuckled. “Cheap rent, beautiful. So be patient.”  
  
Before too long they were pulling up outside of Greg's block of flats, and Mycroft handed the cabbie what he hoped was the fare along with enough of a tip to excuse their behaviour, before stumbling out of the car with Greg, laughing out loud as the man jabbed repeatedly at the button to his lift and then pulled Mycroft close, his hands slipping down to cup the man's arse, a low growl escaping his throat. “You,” he ground out, “are so. Fucking. Sexy.”  
  
Mycroft felt high. His head was spinning and he wasn't sure that he would ever come down. When the lift opened he didn't even wrinkle his nose the way he usually did at the smell of urine in the small lift, instead allowing Greg to push him against the wall and ravage him with his mouth. Mycroft moaned and ground his hips against Greg's, humming with pleasure. He felt himself getting hard, and then he felt himself getting wet too, and he whined, wrapping his arms around Greg's neck.  
  
The lift door opened, and Greg dragged Mycroft towards the door, fumbling with the key because he couldn't seem to keep his mouth off of any inch of Mycroft's body that was exposed. They finally crashed into the flat, and stumbled their way towards Greg's bedroom, falling onto the single bed in the tiny box room with ease. It was only then that Mycroft began to feel nervous, realising just what he was about to do.  
  
“Greg...”  
  
“I love you,” the Alpha breathed out, “I love you so much, Mycroft.”  
  
Mycroft's stomach clenched and then fluttered, and he let out a long breath that he hadn't realised he was holding. “I love you too,” he said, and he meant it. He loved Greg. He loved his wild music and his easy laugh. He loved his sense of humour and his way with words, because even though he wasn't eloquent, he was sincere. He made Mycroft feel free and alive, and Mycroft loved him for it.  
  
Greg moaned and pressed his lips against Mycroft's again, before toying with the hem of his shirt.  
  
“Can we...” The question hung between them, unasked, but Mycroft nodded anyway, sitting up a little and biting his lip.  
  
Greg grinned, and Mycroft found himself grinning back, and then they were tearing at each other's clothes, shirts and jeans and underwear falling to the floor as they struggled to keep the balance on the small bed. When they were both entirely naked, Mycroft shrank back again a little, suddenly aware of his pale, soft, freckled body in a way he never had been before.  
  
Greg gathered Mycroft in his arms, and a small smile graced his features. “God, you are so...beautiful,” he murmured, stroking Mycroft's hair away from his face and then bending to kiss him, his lips pliant and soft against the Omega's. Then he pushed Mycroft gently back down onto the bed, and started trailing kisses down his neck, pausing at each nipple and sucking on them both until Mycroft was mewling with pleasure.  
  
“Oh,” he bucked his hips a little, and Greg only laughed, trailing his kisses even further down until he reached the soft part of Mycroft's belly under his belly button. Mycroft froze and sucked in a little, but then Greg surprised him by biting gently at his belly, which sent a shiver of pleasure up Mycroft's spine. And then Greg's kisses moved even lower and Mycroft gasped as Greg swallowed his cock without warning, arching his back as the wet heat of Greg's mouth engulfed him, sending waves of sensation to every inch of Mycroft's body.  
  
He laced his fingers into Greg's hair and gripped hard, his legs trembling a little with the sensation of the blowjob. He'd never felt anything like this before, so intense and yet gentle and intimate at the same time. Before he knew what he was doing his voice was coming out in breathy little moans, and then suddenly Greg pulled up, a stream of saliva leading from the corner of his mouth to the turgid red head of Mycroft's cock.  
  
“Oh dear,” he murmured, “can't have you getting too ahead of yourself, can we love?” He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and then crawled up between Mycroft's legs until he was leaning over Mycroft, his brown eyes large and his pupils blown. “Are you...do you want to?”

 

Mycroft nodded, his breath catching in his chest. “Do you have any condoms?”  
  
“Yeah,” Greg breathed out, “I do, but...I mean, I just got tested. And you're a virgin and you're not in heat so...”  
  
Mycroft swallowed. He knew the smart thing would be to use a condom, just in case. But he trusted Greg, and loved him, and he had known about the doctor's appointment the week before.  
  
“Yeah,” he murmured, “yeah, just...be gentle.”  
  
Greg's face lit up. “Yeah?” He lowered his lips to Mycroft's and kissed him softly and slowly, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and nipping at it gently as he lined himself up with Mycroft's hole, swirling the head of his cock around the ring of muscle carefully. “God you're wet,” he gasped, reaching a hand down between the two of them and swirling a finger around the ring of muscle, “you're so wet for me, Mycroft.”  
  
Mycroft mewled and nodding, gripping hard at Greg's shoulders as he forced himself to breathe through his nose and relax. Greg would never hurt him. He moaned as he felt one of Greg's fingers breech him, and then the man crooked his finger, rubbing up and down until he found a spot that made Mycroft shiver. Then a second finger was added, and Mycroft winced a little, but Greg kept patiently working his fingers in and out, until Mycroft felt as though he was dripping with need. He'd never been this wet outside of a heat, and he pressed himself harder into Greg, his freckled cheeks flushed with pink in exhilaration. “I'm ready,” he said, his eyes shining with arousal, “please Greg.”  
  
Greg gave a gasp and sat back on his heels, stroking himself a few times to bring him to full hardness. Mycroft looked at Greg's cock and swallowed, suddenly nervous. He was huge, just as most Alpha's were, ten inches if he was anything. Greg saw Mycroft's apprehension and made a gentle shushing sound, coming to rest between Mycroft's legs again. “Don't be scared,” he whispered, brushing Mycroft's cheek with the back of his hand, “your body's made for it, and I'm going to go slow, and keep you safe, okay?”  
  
Mycroft smiled nervously and nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”

 

With that Greg kissed him, long and sweet and softly, and then began to push in, inch by inch, very slowly at first. Mycroft held his breath, but when he realised he was making himself more tense he let it out, lying back and closing his eyes so he could concentrate on the feeling of Greg being inside of him. The fullness was amazing, and when Greg's hand came up to stroke Mycroft's cock as he continued to push inside him Mycroft moaned. He pressed his lips against Greg's again and pushed down, meeting Greg's thrust, and then suddenly all at once everything seemed to speed up, because they were desperate and sweaty, gasping between hungry kisses as their bodies pushed and pulled and pressed together. Mycroft's blood felt like it was raging, and his eyes rolled back into his head with pleasure more than once as Greg thrusted into him again and again.

 

It felt like it was going on forever, Mycroft teetering on the precipice of pleasure, and yet at the same time it felt as though it had barely started when his breathy moans mounted to cries, his toes curling where they rested on the bed. “I'm going – _Greg -”_  
  
“I know, I know, God, Mycie I know...” He stroked Mycroft's cock roughly and thrust his hips even faster, and then the pressure inside Mycroft seemed to explode as he came, waves of pleasure rolling up through his abdomen and all over his body. He clenched around Greg and let out a cry, before collapsing back against the pillows, sweaty and sated, his breath coming in deep and ragged.  
  
Greg grunted and came a few seconds after Mycroft, his eyes screwing up as he spilled inside his boyfriend. He was shiny with sweat, and after a few moments he pulled out slowly, and then collapsed next to the Omega, rolling onto his side to press a kiss against the man's sweaty shoulder. “Are you okay? Was it good for you?”

 

Mycroft nodded, his mouth a little dry. He swallowed. “It was...spectacular.” He heard the click of a lighter and gratefully accepted the cigarette Greg handed him, taking a long draw and watching as the thin column of smoke he blew out wafted up towards the ceiling.   
  
“You're pretty spectacular too,” Greg laughed out, and then he stilled, looking at Mycroft thoughtfully before speaking again, “I really do love you, you know.”  
  
Mycroft blushed deeply and grinned, handing the cigarette over to Greg. “I love you too.”  
  
Greg took the cigarette and inhaled, his eyes never leaving Mycroft's. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief note about the sexy times in this chapter: My headcanon is that male Omegas lubricate all the time, just like women, it's just much more in a heat, and that Alphas typically have very large cocks, which Omegas are physiologically able to take for...biological reasons. 
> 
> It's omegaverse, don't look too hard for logic, haha. 
> 
> In all actuality if anyone would be interested on an extended list of how I view Omegaverse, including my headcanons for Alpha females, leave a comment and maybe I'll get around to writing a little something to post to explain it all in detail.


	4. Punk Is My Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft goes home for a visit, and makes a significant decision.

Mycroft groaned and rolled over when his phone went off that next morning at six o' clock, and next to him Greg grunted, wrapping his arm around Mycroft's waist. “Babe, don't answer it. Come on please...” The next thing Mycroft knew, he felt Greg's hard cock pressing into his side, and he shushed him, answering the phone and pressing it to his ear.   
  
“Sherlock,” he murmured, “are you aware of the time?”  
  
“Intimately aware,” his brother returned, “because I'm calling to tell you that the next train home is at 8.30, and you'd better come because Mummy's driving me insane and you've missed _weeks_ of visits.”  
  
Mycroft bit his lip, guilt rushing through his body at the sound of his little brother's voice. Since he had been seeing Greg he hadn't be going home every weekend as he usually did, and he could tell by the tone of Sherlock's voice that he was upset, even if he was trying to act nonchalant. “I'm sorry Sherlock,” he said quietly, “I've been very busy at uni and -”  
  
“And with your new boyfriend,” Sherlock added, and Mycroft foze.   
  
“How did you -”  
  
“Facebook. Someone tagged a picture of you on some man's lap. And you're shooting him with some simpering look. Mummy's going to _shit_ when she sees what you've done with your hair.”   
  
“Don't swear,” Mycroft said vaguely, turning over to look at Greg, who was frowning up at him and sliding a slow hand up his leg, Mycroft frowned and smacked his hand, covering the bottom of his phone and hissing out a whisper, “I'm on the phone with my _brother_ you pervert.”   
  
“Are you with him _now_?” The disgust in Sherlock's voice was clear, and he let out an audible sigh. “ _Don't_ bring him. You know that Father will hate him and Mummy will be shocked.”  
  
Mycroft swallowed and nodded. “I know.” Oh how he knew. Part of the reason he'd avoided going home was that he knew just how against him and Greg his parents would be. They'd hold his tuition money ransom, they'd force him to break up with Greg, at the very worst they might pull him out of uni and force him to go to some Omega finishing school until he could be mated off to someone more 'appropriate.' Mycroft didn't like to think about the sheer snobbery of the Holmes family, and he hadn't even told Greg yet that he was technically part of the gentry, as the eldest Omega son of a Viscount. He couldn't inherit the title, of course, but whoever ended up bonding him could.   
  
He looked at Greg, with his earrings and shaggy haircut and smiled sadly. He'd never realised before what an expiration date was on them, and he should have been better, he should have ended it before it even started, but he didn't care. Something in his chest fluttered and he knew that he loved Greg. He'd just given him his virginity, and really, he only needed his parents' support for the rest of uni, and then he'd have a good enough job to do whatever he wanted, and fuck the title and fuck the money.   
  
“I'm coming on the 8.30 train,” he said, soliciting a moan from Greg, “but you have to promise me you're not going to tell Mummy and Father. I don't want them to know.”  
  
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “I just want to see you,” Sherlock said quietly, “you don't have to negotiate with me. Of course I won't tell them.”  
  
Mycroft frowned a little. “I didn't mean...I miss you too, brother. I'll see you shortly. All right? Tell Mummy I'm coming.”  
  
“Alright. I've just got some new mould samples in, you have to look at them with me.”   
  
Mycroft grinned. “Of course I will. See you in a couple of hours, Sherlock. Bye.”  
  
“Bye Mycie!”   
  
When Mycroft put the phone down Greg let out a huff and rolled onto his stomach. “Okay, that's completely not fair. How long are you going to be gone?”

 

Mycroft stood, rolling his eyes and pulling on his pants from last night. “Only until tomorrow night, you needy bastard.” He winked at his boyfriend and then continued to dress. “I do need to run, though. If I'm getting the 8.30 train I need to hurry if I'm going to pick up spare clothes from my dorm and make it to Victoria in time.”  
  
Greg propped himself up on one elbow and watched as Mycroft dressed. “Now that I've seen you naked, it's just awful seeing you put your clothes back on. I'm a sick, sick man, Mycroft. Help me.”   
  
Mycroft laughed and sat down, pulling on the lace-up boots he'd bought a couple of weeks ago. He'd need to change when he got home, into something more conservative, but for now he pulled on an old baggy tee shirt of Greg's, soaking in the comforting scent of his boyfriend.

 

“So,” Greg said, lighting a cigarette, “you don't want your brother to tell your parents about us.”  
  
Mycroft froze.

 

“It's not like that,” he said quietly.   
  
“Not like what?” Greg asked, inhaling again as he stared up at the ceiling, “not like you're ashamed of your poor musician boyfriend?”

 

Mycroft huffed and threw up his hands. “Do you understand what my life was like before you? Why do you think that I was so sheltered when you first met me?” He pulled the laces of his boots tight for something to do, the colour on his cheeks rising, then he looked at Greg, who looked confused and mildly hurt, and he sighed, making his way back into the Alpha's bed and cuddling up with him. “There's some things you don't know about me,” he said quietly, “my father...he's a viscount.”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
“A viscount,” Mycroft confirmed, “my family is...old money. Nobility. Our only Alpha heir, Sherrinford, died,” he looked down, “Sherry was the best of us. But he wasn't like me and Sherlock, he was...normal. He wasn't a genius, but he did well for himself. Sherlock hasn't presented yet, but my father's convinced that he's going to be a Beta or an Omega. He's very...” he smiled, “He's so gentle, Greg. Such a sweet boy. But he's like me. Too smart for his own good. And unlikely to present Alpha and carry on the line...which means that the Alpha who bonds me, the oldest Omega child, will inherit my father's title.”  
  
Greg's eyes widened. “Holy fuck...so...”  
  
“So any Alpha I'm seeing has to match up to their standards. Because unless they legally disinherit me he's going to become the next viscount. Which is why before I met you they were setting me up on dates with rich lords that they found appropriate. My father's only assented to pay for my education because after I finish I've promised to mate whichever Alpha he deems suitable for me.”  
  
Greg blinked, his face falling. “So, that means that we can't last?”

 

Mycroft shook his head fervently. “No, no _fuck_ my father. He thinks that after I leave he'll be able to force me to do what he wants by threatening to cut me off. But once I have my education I don't care about whether I'm rich or not. He can cut me off and do whatever he wants, because I'll have a government job and I won't need him any more.” He smiled sadly. “But that means that until then, if I want my father to keep paying for uni, I have to fly completely under the radar, and unfortunately that means that my parents can't find out about you because -” he swallowed, “it's very possible that they'd send me away somewhere, some finishing school, and they'd force us apart. And I can't allow that to happen, because I really do love you.”   
  
Greg pressed his lips against Mycroft's, sucking his bottom lip gently. “I love you too,” he murmured, “and I'm so sorry that things are so complicated for you. But I'm glad you told me.” He snorted and kissed Mycroft's nose. “You wouldn't be the first posh boy to have a secret slum boyfriend.”   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “As much as I hate this room, and Stu, and this stupid flat, you hardly live in a slum.” He glanced over at Greg's alarm clock and sighed. “I must go though, my love. I have to pack an overnight bag before I go to Kent.”  
  
Greg smiled and pulled Mycroft close. “Whatever you say, _my lord_.”  
  
Mycroft snorted and stood up, gathering the remainder of his things. “I'll have you know that the official title is the Honourable Mycroft Holmes, thank you very much.”  
  
Greg let out a laugh and rolled onto his back. “Christ, love. All right, I'll see you when you get back? Call me, okay?”   
  
Mycroft leant down and kissed Greg goodbye. “Of course. I love you.” It felt so good to say.  
  
“Love you too.”

 

 

Mycroft hadn't exactly thought the hair through, that much he would admit himself as the train pulled into the station. He'd chosen an outfit he knew Mummy would approve of, a grey cashmere jumper paired with well-ironed black trousers. She was always encouraging him to wear 'flattering' cuts and colours, to hide his problem areas. But no matter how well he'd listened to her today in terms of clothes, he knew that she'd be horrified by his white-blonde hair and the diamond stud in his ear. Still, he'd never gone through a rebellious phase. And she was always talking about what a shame it was that his hair was so red. Maybe she'd like the change.   
  
He got off the train and saw his mother waiting on the platform, along with his younger brother. He waved and then saw her face drain of colour and her mouth fall open.   
  
Maybe not.   
  
“Hello Mummy,” he said, swooping in to kiss her on the cheek, and then he pulled Sherlock into a tight hug (when would the boy present? He was still so short) “how are you?”  
  
“ _Mycie_ , what have you done with your  _hair_ ?” She took his face and shook her head, her eyes widening, “Mycroft you look  _absurd_ . If you were trying to go blonde I could have taken you to my stylist, you know that? She would have given you some lovely honey-blonde highlights and...” She sighed, and then her nostrils flared as she caught sight of the left side of Mycroft's head, turning his face in her hands. “Is that an  _earring_ ?”

 

Mycroft smiled sheepishly. “I...yes?”  
  
“I think it looks cool,” Sherlock piped up, his voice as high it had ever been, no sign of puberty to push it into a deeper range.   
  
Mummy rolled her eyes. “Well Sherlock, it would look very 'cool' if he had one in each ear, like a reasonable person. Plenty of male Omegas have their ears pierced, but why on earth would you get only one  _lobe_ done honestly -”  
  
“Well,” Mycroft said, “I'm starving. Why don't we go and have lunch at the King Charles Spaniel? Since we're in town anyway.”   
  
Mummy pressed her lips together and nodded. “Alright, I suppose so...but do  _think_ about ordering a salad, Mycie? You're looking a little puffy...”She turned around and made her way to her car, a long white Rolls Royce that she had driven for years.   
  
Mycroft let out a long breath, and then put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders, slinging the bag he'd brought back over his own. “So,” he said, “how's school?”  
  
Sherlock sighed. “It's fine, I suppose. I'm the only one not presented in my class now, and Victor Trevor and his friends won't let me forget about it. They've all presented Alpha, of course. There's only six Omegas, and they all hang out with each other, and then there's ten Betas, and finally Victor and all his Alpha friends, there's nine of them.” He sighed. “I don't even care what I am anymore, I don't even  _really_ want to present, I don't want to be ruled by hormones, I don't want to be some smelly, hairy moron, or a dull Beta with inadequacy issues, or some simpering little twit who only talks about clothes and ba -” he caught Mycroft's eye and flushed. “Sorry,” he murmured.

 

“It's all right,” Mycroft replied, putting his bag into the car boot after Mummy, who was already behind the wheel, beeped the car horn a little impatiently, “I remember feeling much the same at your age, despite the fact that I'd already presented. Idiots are idiots, Sherlock, regardless of their gender.”   
  
Sherlock smirked. “Well, either you've found an idiot you actually like, or you've become one yourself.”  
  
Mycroft put a finger to his lips. “Not a word, little brother. Not a word.”

 

The rest of the day went reasonably well, despite Mycroft's hair and earring. Siger hardly seemed to care, but then since Sherrinford's death Siger had hardly seemed to care about anyone, which made things considerably easier for Mycroft, at least in the sense of keeping his boyfriend hidden. They'd shared the required awkward family dinner, after which Mycroft and Sherlock had sequestered themselves in the lab in the basement.   
  
“See?” Sherlock pointed to a slide, “I think with just a little more coaxing, I'll have penicillin, don't you?”  
  
“You always had more of a mind for chemistry than I did,” Mycroft murmured, peering down the microscope, leaving out the fact that he'd managed to cultivate penicillin when he was a year younger than Sherlock, “but yes, looks like it. Well done, little brother.”

 

Sherlock collapsed onto the worn couch they kept in the lab, and then stripped off his gloves, tossing them into the rubbish bin next to the couch. “There's some crisps in the locker over there, Mycroft, and some biscuits. Mummy hasn't let you have anything that isn't green since you got here.”

 

Mycroft snorted. “Of course she hasn't. I haven't lost any weight, after all. Go and wash your hands, at least. That mould isn't penicillin yet.”

 

Mycroft pulled out two bags of salt and vinegar and two bags of ready salted, as well as the biscuit tin. He flopped onto the couch, and when Sherlock came back he opened the biscuit tin, taking out a chocolate digestive for himself. “So how else has school been? Aside from everyone presenting?”  
  
Sherlock huffed. “Boring.” He opened a bag of crisps, and then met Mycroft's eye, smirking, “how's your _boyfriend_?”

 

Mycroft blushed and shrugged one shoulder. “He's fine. His name's -”  
  
“Gregory Lestrade, I saw in the tag on Facebook.” Sherlock shoved a handful of salt and vinegar crisps in his mouth. “He looks sort of cool,” he said, spraying crumbs as he spoke, “too cool for you, anyway.”  
  
Mycroft grimaced and brushed his his trousers. “He is cool. He's a lead guitarist in a punk band.”  
  
Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what? Seriously? What else does he do?” He couldn't believe that Mycroft was seeing a _musician_ , his stuffy older brother who had never dated anyone, and who hadn't even ever brought a friend home to visit, and who had _never_ had a second date with any of the Alphas their parents had set them up with.

 

Mycroft bit his lip. “Well, he's a musician. He gets by on the money he makes doing gigs, and sometimes he picks up other work when he needs the money, painting jobs and things.”  
  
Sherlock blinked, his head tilted to one side. “You've had sex with him,” he said finally, matter-of-factly.

 

Mycroft nearly choked on the biscuit he was eating and shushed his brother, just in case. Mummy and Father hadn't ventured down to the basement lab in years, but somehow it still felt dangerous to talk about it so openly. “Yes, all right? Shut up.”

 

Sherlock swallowed, his mouth twisting. “That's _nasty_.” He huffed and closed the biscuit tin, and then stood up, making his way over to the cupboard.   
  
“You'll feel differently when you present,” Mycroft said, “but we don't need to talk about it any more if it disgusts you so.”

 

“Hmm,” was all Sherlock said, and then he pulled out a jar ,”want to do some experiments on some mouse foetuses?”  
  
Mycroft grinned. “Of course I do, little brother.”

 

 

Mycroft had his mother drop him off at the station on Sunday at noon, but what she didn't know was that he was not planning on taking the train at half past as he had told her he would. Instead he called a taxi, and made his way to his doctor's office. He didn't have a doctor in London, and he wanted to get something done as soon as possible.   
  
“Hello,” he murmured, smiling at the receptionist in the office, “how are you?”  
  
“Mycroft,” she smiled, “good to see you again. You can go right through, Doctor Richards is waiting for you.”

 

Mycroft made his way into the office and set his bag down, swallowing a little as he sat. He'd been seeing Doctor Richards since he was 12 years old, and he'd presented. His mother had insisted that he no longer needed to see a paediatrician and had found Doctor Richards for him, and Mycroft had been immediately comfortable. He was a middle-aged Omega, plump with the many children he'd had, and he had always been very good at putting Mycroft at ease.   
  
“Mycroft!” Doctor Richards said, smiling, “how are you? What brings you in today.”  
  
Mycroft bit his lip, and then let out a half laugh from sheer nerves. “I was hoping that you could prescribe me some birth control.”

 

Dr. Richards' eyebrows shot up, and he sat down at his desk opposite Mycroft. “I see. Well, I certainly can, you're of legal age, but -” he looked down and flipped back a page on Mycroft's chart, “and as you know, I'm private practice, not NHS, I bill your parents for every visit you make.”  
  
“About that,” Mycroft interrupted, “I was wondering if I could just pay for it in the office, here.” He coughed. “Off the record, that is.”  
  
Dr. Richards hesitated, and then he nodded. “I'll bill you as a walk-in patient today,” he said finally. “Now,” he clicked on his mouse and wiggled it around, “I have a few questions. Are your heats regular?”  
  
“Yes, “ Mycroft confirmed, “they happen every three months and last for three days, sometimes four depending on what time they start on the first day.”  
  
“Very good,” Dr. Richards said, “and you were how old when you experienced your first heat?”  
  
“Twelve,” Mycroft replied.

 

“And when was your last heat?”  
  
“Two months ago,” Mycroft said, “I'm due on the 16th of next month.”

 

“And there's no possibility that you could be pregnant?”  
  
Mycroft swallowed. “No, no there's absolutely no way.”  
  
Dr. Richards looked at Mycroft carefully. “Are you sure? You're aware that there's a fertile window a few days before your heat and a few days after? It's very unusual but it's possible you could be pregnant if you -”  
  
“I was still a virgin leading up to my last heat,” Mycroft interrupted, “and I didn't share it with anyone and,” he blushed, “I only just had sex for the first time a couple of days ago.”  
  
“Good,” Dr. Richards said, “very good. I'll just take your blood pressure and a few other things, but there shouldn't be a problem. Hop up on the table for me, Mycroft.”  
  
Mycroft did as he was told and listened as Dr. Richards slipped a blood pressure cuff onto his arm. “I'm going to prescribe you a brand called Lo-Omdrin. It's a low-hormone pill that's just as effective, but gentler on the system. I'd suggest waiting until after your next heat and then starting the pills. It's better to start them at the beginning of your cycle -”  
  
“And if I wanted to start them now? Before my heat?”

 

Dr. Richards sighed. “Well, they take three weeks to get into your system, but they won't interrupt your heat schedule. However, you must make sure that if you're planning to share your next heat you take your birth control religiously. Every day from today on and at the same time. Understood?”

 

Mycroft nodded. “But you promise it'll work? If I share my next heat the birth control will be effective then?”  
  
Dr. Richards nodded. “If you take it as directed, yes. The reason I suggest starting with a new cycle is then the pills go more with the natural ebbs and flow of your hormones, leading you less open to side-effects -”  
  
“Which are?”

 

“Mood swings, weight gain, acne...of course none of these are a certainty, but they are a possibility.”

 

Mycroft took a deep breath as Dr. Richards listened to his chest, “I see. Thank you for the warning.”  
  
“Your blood pressure is good, temperature normal. With your regular heats I have no problem writing you this prescription.” Dr. Richards sat at his computer and began to type. “Is there a particular chemist's you'd like me to send this to, Mycroft?”  
  
“I go to university in London,” Mycroft said, “so the Boots on Maple street there would be ideal, the one just of Marylebone road.”  
  
“Found it,” Dr. Richards confirmed, and then he sighed, turning towards his patient ,”Mycroft, I'm aware that it's none of my business, but I just want to urge you to be careful. As you know, I'm a successful doctor, and I have five children, but I established myself in my career _before_ my mate and I started having children, and I just want -”  
  
“You're right,” Mycroft said, “it's not your business. But I am procuring birth control to _prevent_ children. Thank you for your advice.”  
  
Dr. Richards nodded. “I see. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just...you're a very smart boy, Mycroft. I'd hate to see you throw all of that away.”

 

Mycroft smiled tightly. “I understand, is there anything else?”  
  
Dr. Richards shook his head. “No, that's everything. Call me if you're prescription doesn't go through. And Mycroft – the same time every day, understood?”

 

Mycroft stood. “Of course. Goodbye Dr. Richards.”  
  
He walked out of the office, his stomach tense with knots. He was going to do it. He was going to give his heat to Gregory Lestrade, and no one and nothing could stop him.

 

 

Later that night Mycroft crawled into Gregory's single bed, nuzzling his nose into the Alpha's shoulder. “I don't understand why you always want me to come here, you could come to my uni, you know. I have a private room.”  
  
Greg grunted and ran a hand up and down Mycroft's back. “Well, you do share a bathroom, and I sort of like being able to drink and smoke inside.”  
  
Mycroft wrinkled his nose and huffed. “You know you really shouldn't smoke in here at least. It's got no window.”

 

Greg chuckled. “You didn't seem too upset last night when you were getting your post-orgasm nicotine buzz.” He laughed and then crawled on top of Mycroft, nuzzling at his neck. “Speaking of, that was incredible, you know. I hope you enjoyed it because I have news for you babe, we're going to be having sex a _lot.”_

 

Mycroft thrust his hips up into Greg's and groaned. “Mmm, is that so? Well, I've got news for you too.”  
  
“Oh?” Greg leant down to bite at Mycroft's neck, gently. “What's that then, gorgeous?”  
  
Mycroft laced his fingers into Greg's hair and brought his legs up to loop around the man, clinging tightly to the man with his thighs. “I got birth control today,” he whispered, “and I'd like you to share my next heat with me. If you want to.”  
  
Mycroft felt Greg freeze against him, and suddenly he was propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide and surprised. “Are you...babe are you serious?”  
  
Mycroft bit his lip, and then nodded. “I mean...if you'd like to.”  
  
Greg pressed a kiss to Mycroft's lips so intense that Mycroft lost his breath, grasping at Greg's shoulders with his hands, his fingers digging into the muscles of his boyfriend's back. Greg sucked his tongue out of his mouth and then pulled back, kissing Mycroft over and over, passionately. “Of course I'd like to babe, fuck, of course I do.” He let out a delighted laugh and looked at Mycroft, making the Omega's stomach flip with pleasure.   
  
“I want to as well,” he said, “but not here. I'll never forgive you or myself if I share my first heat on this tiny mattress, with Stuart listening in the other room. I'm renting a hotel room.”

 

Greg laughed. “You won't hear me complaining about that one love,” his eyes softened, and he reached up to touch Mycroft's cheek, “you really do love me, eh? What did I do to deserve you?”  
  
Mycroft shrugged one shoulder. “Who knows? I suppose you got lucky.”  
  
Greg leant down and bit Mycroft's lips again. “I suppose I did...but you're stuck with me now, Mycroft Holmes.”  
  
Mycroft slipped his hand inside Greg's boxer shorts. “And you with me, Gregory Lestrade.”

 

 

  
  
  


 


	5. You Ruined Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg share an intimate moment. And Mycroft learns three new things, one by deducing, one from his mother, and one from Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I wanted to make it clear that my vision of the Holmes family is not show-compliant. Before we were graced with the glorious presence of Benny's parents, my RP partner and I had a headcanon that the Holmeses were very rich, titled, and...that their parents were arseholes. Like I said, not show complaint at all, haha. That being said, please enjoy the chapter!

As much as Mycroft loved his boyfriend, he didn't always love his boyfriend's _friends._ Cheryl was nice enough, he supposed, well, actually she was lovely, and Jack was kind in a rough, abrasive Alpha-type way.   
  
But Stuart. Stuart was absolutely unbearable, and unfortunately for Mycroft, the fact that Greg's friends were also all his band members, not to mention the fact that Stuart was Greg's flat mate, necessitated him spending much more time with them than he would have preferred, especially when he often felt like between the band and his own studies he and Greg rarely got any quality time together that wasn't spent in smoky punk clubs.

 

And now here he was at band practice at Stuart and Greg's flat, and even though Greg had assured Mycroft that he was perfectly welcome, Mycroft was feeling a little awkward as they strummed on their instruments and talked over him. Every now and then Greg would lean over and kiss him on the cheek, but Mycroft couldn't help but feel that his presence wasn't exactly needed, and he had a lot of work of his own to get done. He'd brought his laptop just in case, but ten minutes into the practice he'd realised that that goal was unrealistic, at least while the band was running through newer songs that they didn't know very well.   
  


“ _No_ ,” Cheryl snapped at Jack, and Mycroft wondered vaguely if they had broken up again, “that bit's meant to be guitars and my vocals only, I want to build the chord progression without percussion and then have the percussion come in like a punch in the ear -”  
  
“I'm pretty sure we don't want to punch our audiences in the ear -”  
  
“We play _punk_ , Jack -”

 

“Right,” Greg stood up and made his way to the kitchen, and then came back with a small biscuit tin, “we all need to calm down and unwind for a bit. Anyone want to smoke a bit?”  
  
Everyone nodded their assent except Mycroft, who didn't smoke weed, and Greg knew that, which was why he handed Mycroft a can of cider he'd brought in under one arm, before sitting down to roll a meticulous-looking spliff. Mycroft fought the urge to roll his eyes, because while he wasn't exactly opposed to his boyfriend and his friends smoking, he did think it was foolish to do during a band practice. How on earth did they expect to get anything done? Still, it was none of his business, and so he took a sip of his cider and said nothing as the spliff was lit and passed around the circle.

 

Suddenly it was thrust under his nose, and the acrid-smelling smoke made his nostrils itch, and so involuntarily he scrunched up his nose and leant back. “No, thank you.” He looked over at Stuart, the only person who ever bothered to try and get him to smoke any more. “I don't smoke weed. Thank you.”

 

“Come on Yoko,” Stuart said, pushing the spliff towards him again.

 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Jesus Stu, leave off, will you?”  
  
“Why is he even here?” Stuart rounded on Greg, and Mycroft found himself sinking back into the couch, his cheeks flushing a deep red, “Why is he _always bloody here_ , Greg? You're late on rent again but you manage to find enough money to buy him some _cider_ because he can't drink normal beer, can he? Is he staying here again tonight? Am I going to have to listen to you two fuck again? Because that fucking bed of yours squeaks and that fucking _bitch_ of yours _squeals_ -”

 

Mycroft didn't even see it coming, and that was something that rarely happened to him, but the next thing he knew Greg had launched across the coffee table, and was punching Stuart, his lip pulled back in a growl as he struck the other Alpha over and over.   
  
“JESUS!” Cheryl backed up quickly, splattered with Mycroft's cider which Greg had knocked off the coffee table when he lunged forward. “Fucking hell -”  
  
Jack acted quickly, and it certainly helped that he was the largest of the three Alphas, standing at 6'6 with very broad shoulders. He managed to pull the two apart, and to Mycroft's horror he saw that Greg had the beginnings of a black eye, and Stuart's nose was gushing blood.   
  
“I'm sorry,” he choked out, “I...” He jumped up and went to the kitchen, fishing out two bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer and handing one to Cheryl for Stuart, before pressing the other gently over Greg's eyes. “You shouldn't have done that,” he whispered, “I don't care what he says about me, I don't -”  
  
“I care!” Greg roared, sitting down with a huff, his chest rising and falling as he allowed Mycroft to press the icy peas to his eye, “I _fucking_ care.”  
  
“Fuck you!” Stuart roared back, “I want my fucking rent money!”   
  
“You'll get it!” Greg snapped back, “But leave Mycroft out of things.”

 

“You are kind of a fucking dick to him,” Cheryl added, “you've got to calm down, Stu. Mycroft's nice.”

 

“And Greg loves him,” Jack added, “so grow up – but Greg,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “you've really got to pay him, mate. We get it, alright? We're all musicians too. But we all have other jobs so we can get by. I'm not surprised that Stuart's so fucking pissed off.”  
  
Mycroft looked over at Stuart, and looked at the way he was looking at Greg, and suddenly everything seemed to click into place. It didn't make sense that Stuart hated Mycroft so much, not if it was just the rent issue that he was angry about. Mycroft got the impression that his boyfriend was often late on rent, and it hadn't been as much of an issue before Mycroft came along. But when he looked at Stuart, he saw his pupils dilate when they came to rest on Greg, and saw him swallow as his mouth filled with saliva. There was a sadness to his eyes, and suddenly Mycroft recollected how Stuart would try to join them in the living room whenever he and Greg were spending time in there. The only way to get any privacy was to lock them selves in Greg's tiny room, or Mycroft's one in the university halls.   
  
Stuart didn't want him to be alone with Greg. Stuart didn't want Greg to have an Omega.

 

Stuart was gay, and he was in love with Mycroft's boyfriend.

 

Mycroft sucked a deep breath in through his nostrils, and then stood up. “I think I should go,” he said quietly.

 

“Baby no -”

 

“Shhh.” Mycroft bent down and kissed Greg. “I've got homework to do, and I've interrupted band practice for long enough.” Part of him wanted to expose Stuart, to reveal his secret in front of all his friends, but he couldn't imagine being so frightened by who you were that you had to live in fear of anyone finding out. That alone was punishment enough for Stuart's behaviour.

 

Greg sighed and followed Mycroft to the door, his eye already starting to swell. “I'm so sorry,” he murmured, “I don't know...Stu's never been like this before. I'm so sorry -”  
  
“It's alright,” Mycroft murmured, “not your fault, love.” He reached up and touched Greg's swollen face carefully, making a concerned hissing sound. “Your poor eye.”  
  
Greg shrugged one shoulder. “This old thing? Pssht.”   
  
Mycroft sighed and pressed his lips to his boyfriend's. “I love you. Maybe you should come over to mine tomorrow. Give Stuart some space.”

 

Greg sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose that's a good idea. I might try and pick up some labour work this week, get together the rent for Stu so he's not so upset.”

 

Mycroft nodded. “Not next week though,” he said, smiling, “next week I'm getting us a hotel, remember?”  
  
“Mmm,” Greg licked his lips, “oh yeah, love. I look forward to it.” They'd decided to have Mycroft's heat in a hotel, since neither of their rooms were exactly suited for it, and both of them were humming with the anticipation of sharing such an intimate moment together.

 

Mycroft blushed to the roots of his hair (which were already coming in ginger), and he grinned, pressing another kiss to his boyfriend's lips. “I love you,” he murmured.  
  
“I love you too,” Greg returned, “I'll see you tomorrow, gorgeous. Have a good night.”  
  
Mycroft smiled all the way home.

 

 

_Mummy says she doesn't understand why you won't just come home tonight. She's got the heat-wing all ready. SH_

 

Mycroft was sweating a little, already lounging on the soft sheets of the hotel room he'd booked. He'd wanted to be sure, and so he'd booked for the day before and the day after his heat as well. Greg was just finishing up some day labour, and then he was going to head straight over for an evening of decadent room service and drinking before the heat really started to kick in. He'd told his parents, however, that he simply had too much to do and couldn't afford to lose the two days of travel it would take to get to and from the manor for his heat, and so was taking advantage of his uni's heat dorm for the first time ever.

 

Of course that wasn't true, but they didn't need to know that.

 

_I'm already in preheat, Sherlock. I couldn't travel now even if I wanted to. M_

 

It was true. While not as serious as full heat, he knew that his body would be giving off scent in waves, and he was already feeling fatigued and uncomfortable. Travelling wouldn't be wise.

 

_I'm not buying it, you know. You may have Mummy and Father fooled but I know about your boyfriend and I know what you're really planning. SH_

 

Mycroft blanched.

 

_You can't tell them. Sherlock, please. M_

 

_What if something happens? I just don't want you to ruin your life. SH_

 

_You're being over-dramatic, Sherlock. I'm on birth control, and Greg and I have both been tested. What else could happen? M_

 

There was a pause, and Mycroft had to hold back a smirk as he imagined Sherlock huffing in frustration because he _knew_ that Mycroft was right. And sure enough, after a few moments he got a text back which made him smile.

 

_Fine. But I hope you know you're nasty and I don't want to hear anything about it. SH_

 

Mycroft chuckled. _Very well, little brother. Tell Mummy I'll be home in a few weeks, after exams are over. M_

 

_All right I will. I've just finished a new experiment, I can show you the results when you get back. SH_

 

_Very good. I look forward to it. M_

 

Mycroft paused for a moment, and then typed again, biting his lip.

 

_I don't suppose there have been any signs, Sherlock? Of you presenting? M_

 

He felt his guilt build as the minutes stretched on and and on and there was no reply from his little brother. Every other person in Sherlock's year had presented but him, and it was showing, with his little brother looking small and child-like compared to other teens his age. Every time he saw Sherlock he looked for a sign, but his brother remained immature and unrepresented, and it was causing tension in the house.

_No. SH_

 

Mycroft looked at the terse reply and sighed, before typing one last message.   
  
_I was just asking, little brother. You know I love you, even if you stay a baby forever. M_

 

He chuckled when he got his reply.

 

_Oh piss off, you stinky Omega. SH_

 

Mycroft had barely put down the phone when he heard a click of the hotel door and looked up, grinning at the Alpha who walked through it. He slid down on the bed and rolled onto his side, waiting, and smiled when Greg joined him, his clothes already falling to the floor.

 

Well, dinner could wait.

 

The next few days were a blur of heat and need and want, sweaty bodies slipping against each other over and over as their hormones raged and Mycroft's heat kept him going, even through hunger, thirst, and he knew now that he never wanted to spend another heat alone, not when he had Greg.   
  
“I love you,” he gasped out as he rode on top of Greg's cock, sweat trickling down his already-shining chest. The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and when he looked down at his boyfriend he saw that the man's pupils were blown, as he was sure his own were.   
  
“I love you too,” Greg whispered, his fingers digging into Mycroft's hips hard enough to leave bruises, “God, you're beautiful. Oh babe oh my God...” He started rocking Mycroft into him faster, and the Omega wailed at the sensation.

 

“Greg!” His muscles were burning with exertion but he didn't care, the adrenaline was coursing through him and his whole body was flushed pink with the blood flooding his limbs. He felt like he was floating, his mind soaring higher and higher as his brain was bombarded with endorphins. He hadn't know it was possible to come as hard or as often as he had within the past few days, and yet he was craving it yet again, his cock swollen and turgid and bouncing against his abdomen as he slammed himself down on the man's cock over and over again.

 

“I'm...” he was shivering with energy, “Greg, I'm -”  
  
“I know,” Greg gasped out, and then he let out a yell himself, “Oh fuck, fuck, it's coming Mycroft...”

 

His knot. Mycroft could feel it coming, expanding within him, and he couldn't believe that it felt so amazing every single time, and so he ground down harder, trying to take every inch of Greg that he could. Suddenly it was happening and he moaned, feeling so full as it expanded in him, and with the pressure of Greg's huge knot pressing on the sweet spot inside of him he wailed and came, splattering his and Greg's bellies with a small amount of come, clenching around the man's knot as he did so. And then he felt it, Greg spurting into him, filling him up and soaking his insides. Mycroft kept his eyes closed let the energy drain out of him, breathing deeply as he felt Greg's cock pulse over and over, pumping him with seed.

 

“We need...water,” Greg gasped dryly, “mmmmm, you know? You all right love?”

 

Mycroft let out a long, low chuckle. “We can grab water after you can pull out of me again.” He glanced over at the clock and shifted on Greg's cock, producing a small moan from his boyfriend, who bucked his hips up and came again.   
  
“Christ,” he grunted out, “what was that for?”  
  
Mycroft chuckled. “You're complaining?” He reached down and stroked Greg's hair, sighing. “I think this might be the last round, or perhaps there's a couple more but...it's the third day, and it's late.”

 

Greg laughed. “Well, we're definitely going to need tomorrow to recover, fucking hell. I'm so sore, Mycie, I can't even imagine how you're feeling.”  
  
Full. Satisfied. Perfected. But Mycroft just shrugged one shoulder. “A little sore as well. But it's all right.”

Greg ran his hands up and down Mycroft's back, frowning a little at the scratch marks he found there. “Have I been hurting you, babe? You should have said something.”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and traced his fingers gently over Greg's chest, pointing out the streaks from Mycroft dragging his nails down it. “Come on now, look at yourself,” he took one of Greg's hands and nipped at his fingers, “I think I gave as good as I got, don't you?”

 

Greg chuckled. “Good point, love. Okay.” He pulled his hand out of Mycroft's grasp and then grabbed Mycroft's instead, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “So,” he said, “I've been thinking, and I need to move out of Stuart's flat.”   
  
Mycroft's belly lurched happily. “Are you sure?” he asked, even though he was practically salivating at the thought of Greg getting away from his bitter flatmate, he wanted to proceed with caution, because he was careful to make sure that Greg wouldn't think he was trying to come between him and his friends.   
  
Greg nodded. “Yeah, honestly it's time. But it means I'll have to get a proper job, save up for a deposit somewhere. And even then I'll have to have a flatmate, but I want a real bedroom, and a real space we can be together. And I think it'll be better for the band if Stuart and I aren't fighting all the time.”

 

Mycrpoft nodded. “Yes, you're right. Maybe you can look for jobs next weekend. I'll have to go home and see my brother anyway, since I missed this weeked.”  
  
Greg chuckled. “You're cute, you know that? Being so devoted to your family. I should go home and see Mum at some point...” Greg yawned and shifted his hips. “Mm, I think it's starting to go down...room service?”  
  
Mycroft nodded, and yawned, shifting a little as he felt the knot start to deflate inside him. Food sounded good.

 

 

It was a week later when Mycroft got a call from his mother, which was rather unusual. Usually they liked to use Sherlock as a messenger between the two brothers, but now Mycroft was receiving a rare phone call from the woman herself. He was at Greg's when he received the call, and he stubbed out his cigarette in panic, as if his mother could actually see him and would reprimand him any minute for 'that filthy habit.' He held his finger to his lips and Greg nodded, taking a swig of his beer and pausing the DVD they were watching, and then Mycroft picked up the phone.

 

“Hello Mummy,” he said pleasantly, “how are you?”  
  
“Oh Mycroft,” Mummy's voice was high and light, and Mycroft blinked. Happy. She was incredibly happy about something. Another suitor? Would Mycroft soon be subjected to another abysmal date with a boring member of the gentry?

 

“Mycroft,” his mother repeated, “you'll never guess – your brother has finally presented!”  
  
Mycroft's mouth fell open, and suddenly everything clicked into place. Obviously his mother was calling him because his brother had gone into heat, and wasn't able to pick up the phone himself. He felt an odd sense of relief and loss all at the same time. His baby brother had presented, the waiting was over, and he wouldn't be a social outcast any more. Mycroft could guide him in his choices, and together they'd grow stronger as brothers, as well as show the world what Omegas could do, and be. At the same time...his baby brother was no longer a baby. Mycroft had liked him staying childlike. He didn't want Sherlock to have to face heats, or discrimination.

 

“That's wonderful,” he said, “truly, I'm so glad. How is he doing? Have you been in to check on him? You should really get him some aids, mother, at least for his first heat. I know you don't approve but -”  
  
“No dear!” His mother interrupted him, delightedly, “You don't understand. Your brother has presented Alpha!”  
  
Alpha.

 

Sherlock was an Alpha. His younger brother, his partner in crime, the little boy who trailed after him for years, blanket dragging behind him and a sticky thumb in his mouth, he was an Alpha. He was going to inherit their family's title, the entire manor, everything. Mycroft's belly suddenly grew cold when he realised what Sherlock's presentation meant for him. As the oldest of two Omega sons, or as the fertile child if Sherlock had presented Beta, Mycroft would have stood to inherit everything. He would have been the heir. And now...he would inherit a small portion of his family's money upon his father's death, while Sherlock got the lion's share. Of course, it didn't really matter, it wasn't the Victorian age where Mycroft's only hope was to make a good match for himself, he was in uni, and he was going to forge his own way, make his own career. Still, it smarted a little, to know that the brother who was seven years his junior was taking his rightful place, simply because Mycroft could bear children, and Sherlock could sire them.

 

“Oh,” he said faintly, “oh, he's an Alpha -”  
  
“Your father is _so_ proud, for obvious reasons, he's already talking about which schools he should send Sherlock off to – of course he'll finish out the year where he is, but we rather think that Eton might be the right choice, given our position.”   
  
Mycroft didn't want to hear about Eton. “Mummy, if Sherlock's not...unavailable, why isn't he ringing me himself?”

 

There was a pause, and then his mother spoke again, a little more quietly. “Well dear, you know how harsh it can be when your full senses hit you. And they're even more acute just after presentation. He's been very sensitive to sounds and smells these past few days, not to mention...” She laughed lightly, but it sounded forced and tinny. “He's already got his hormones in, you'll see. Moody for no reason, just moping about, as if it isn't something to be celebrated. He's locked himself in his room.”

 

Mycroft swallowed. “Of course, it's a big change. I'll come and visit this weekend -”  
  
Greg poked Mycroft, his eyes wide and pleading, and Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose. Right, Greg's band had a huge gig that weekend, an actual paid one, and Mycroft had promise to be there. He sighed.   
  
“Actually the weekend after, sorry, I have a big test.”  
  
“Of course dear,” his mother said knowingly, “don't you worry, we're looking after him, Mycroft. After all, he's the future of the family now.”  
  
Mycroft winced. “Quite. Goodbye, Mummy.”  
  
“Goodbye my love. Come home soon!”  
  
Mycroft hung up, and he lit another cigarette, leaning back into Greg's arms.   
  
“So,” the Alpha said, “your brother presented. Alpha, it sounds like. Want to talk about it?”  
  
Mycroft shook his head, and took a drag, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest.

 

 

Two weeks later, and as promised, Mycroft was climbing out of a taxi he'd caught at the train station, determined to congratulate his brother and not display any sort of bitterness towards him. Alpha or no, Sherlock was family, and on top of that he was Mycroft's favourite member of his family, and he knew that if his brother could choose he wouldn't remove Mycroft from his position. The fault lay with their father, and with the archaic rules that governed inheritance, not with his baby brother, who was probably going through enough as it was, with his recent presentation.   
  
They were waiting for him on the steps of the manor, and Mycroft was shocked to see that his brother had grown taller in just a few weeks, presumably a little before his presentation and a little after, because there was no way that he could have grown three inches in only two weeks. It would be physically impossible, not to mention excruciatingly painful. The face full of acne that his brother was sporting was also new, and Mycroft sighed in sympathy. Apparently Alphas didn't have easy roads either. He smiled and waved, climbing the steps, before pulling his brother into a hug.   
  
To his surprise, he felt his brother stiffen against him, and the younger boy pulled away, fixing Mycroft with a look that could only be described as horrified. Mycroft frowned, but then his brother gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head in response to his Mycroft's frown, and so the Omega moved on to greet their parents, his stomach churning at the strange reception from his brother. What was going on?  
  
He didn't have to wait long. Just after Mycroft had gone to his room to unpack his things for the weekend, the door burst open, and then Sherlock was locking it behind him, his eyes wild and wide.

 

“What the devil has gotten into you?” Mycroft asked, folding his arms over his chest.   
  
“Did you think I wouldn't notice?” Sherlock hissed, his cheeks flushed red with excitement. “I notice _everything_ now, Mycie. I can smell _everything._ ”  
  
Mycroft frowned. “Notice what? What are you talking about?”   
  
Sherlock stepped closer, his eyes anguished.   
  
“You're _pregnant_.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This fic will contain (eventual) mpreg, and as I'm sure anyone can tell from looking at my works, I am primarily a kink writer. That being said, this work will NOT focus on weight gain kink, although there may be talk of weight fluctuatins, as happens with things like pregnancy or puberty. That being said, I believe it will be safe for those of you who are not into fatlock or weight gain kink. For those of you that are, I hope you'll read anyway :). Thanks!


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